


Gettin' Hitched

by LarkONeill



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Dirty Talk, F/M, Fluff, Grimes Family 2.0, Humor, Light Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-21
Updated: 2016-07-21
Packaged: 2018-07-25 22:37:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7549945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LarkONeill/pseuds/LarkONeill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU Richonne wedding fic originally written for the June Bride Writing Challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gettin' Hitched

**Author's Note:**

> My first Richonne fic! Eek! 
> 
> Anyone who read this on Tumblr is probably looking at the tags like, "Strip tease whaaat?!" Yeah, that wasn't in the original. Think of it as a smutty bonus.

As soon as Michonne walks through the door of the Grimes residence, she drops her tote and keys on the table in the entryway and heads to the kitchen. Humming softly to herself, she pulls a glass from the cupboard and fills it in the nearby sink. 

It had been a long day at the office and she’s eager to spend a quiet evening with Rick. Judith and Carl are staying with his parents for the weekend, so they'll have the house all to themselves. Or so she thought.

As she takes a seat at the kitchen table and toes off her stilettos, she hears little feet scurrying across the hardwood floor. Before she can even turn her head, Judith is standing in front of her with a grin on her face and both hands behind her back. 

“Hi, sunflower,” Michonne says brightly, reaching out to stroke the little girl’s cheek. 

“Momma, I got somethin’ for ya,” she says, sticking her right hand out triumphantly. In it rests a black velvet box.

"Where did you get this,” Michonne asks with a questioning smile. 

“Daddy said give it to you."

“Where is your daddy?” she wonders aloud, scanning the room before lifting the lid on the small box.

Inside is a beautiful emerald cut diamond atop a slim platinum band.

“It’s pretty!” Judith exclaims, giggling and clapping her tiny hands.

Michonne swallows hard. 

"Yes, yes it is,” she says, finding her voice. 

Is she really looking at an engagement ring? 

As if hearing her unspoken question, Rick says her name. She turns to find him down on one knee, Carl at his side.

“Michonne,” he says again, taking the ring out of the box. “Will you marry me, and make me and Carl and Judith the happiest family on earth?” 

Michonne looks at the teenager, who nods, smile a mile wide, and her eyes immediately fill with tears. 

"Yes,” she says with a watery smile. “Yes, of course I’ll marry you.” 

With an expression that is simultaneously delighted and relieved, Rick takes Michonne’s left hand and gently slides the ring onto her fourth finger. When she throws her arms around his neck he pulls her into a standing position. 

“I love you so much,” he says, hands at her waist as he gazes into her eyes.

"I love you, too,” she replies and gently kisses him on the lips. 

“What ‘bout me, momma? You love me, too?” Judith asks, wrapping herself around Michonne’s leg. 

“To the moon and back,” she answers, picking the little girl up and placing her on her hip. “You too, kid,” she says and wraps an arm around Carl’s shoulders.

“We’ve been a family for a long time now, but I’m glad it’s finally going to be official,” he tells her.

“Ditto," she replies and ruffles his hair.

* * *

“I can’t believe you’re finally getting married!” Michonne’s mother exclaims, hands clasped in front of her chest.

“Mom, _finally _?” she asks with a laugh.__

“Well you said you’d never marry Mike and...”

“Alright, alright. Now why did you drag me up here?” Michonne asks, eager to change the subject. Plus, she’s truly curious as to why they’re standing in her parents’ bedroom.

Rick and Michonne wanted to break the news to them in person, and the pre-existing brunch date at their home the day after the proposal seemed like the perfect opportunity. But her eagle-eyed mother noticed the diamond ring as soon as the couple walked through the door and made quite a fuss, effectively stealing their thunder. 

“Because I want to give you this,” the older woman says, a beloved pearl necklace dangling from her manicured hand. “As you know, I wore these on my wedding day and your granny wore them on her wedding day.”

Michonne nods.

“Now it’s your turn, baby,” she says, placing them in Michonne’s palm.

“Thanks, Mom,” she says wrapping her in a warm embrace. “They’re lovely. They’ll be my ‘something old.’” 

After brunch, Rick and Michonne begin telling their friends about the engagement. Unsurprisingly, Maggie shrieks into the phone upon hearing the news.

“I’m so happy for y’all! Congratulations!”

“Thank you” Michonne pauses. “Will you be my matron of honor?”

“I better be!” Maggie says and Michonne laughs. 

“And as your matron of honor, I’m takin’ it upon myself to give you your somethin’ new.’” 

“Sounds good,” Michonne says, smiling.

* * *

Honestly, Michonne isn’t really looking forward to the wedding dress hunt. She typically shops online, but knows that won’t do for this particular purchase.

She decides to keep her entourage small, just her mom and Maggie. No need for a thousand opinions. Besides, she’s got a pretty good idea of what she wants. 

No princess gowns, no veil. Chic and easy— that’s what she’s aiming for.

And she finds it on her third try. 

“This is the one,” Michonne states confidently, facing the mirror outside the dressing room. 

“It’s beautiful,” her mother says, eyes welling with tears. 

“It’s so elegant,” Maggie coos, rising to get a better look. 

“It suits you.”

The gown is made of cream crepe and has a pintucked surplice neckline, a deep cowl back, and a subtle train. A fitted belt with glass crystals and glass beads sits at her waist.

“What do you think of this?” Maggie asks, holding up a vintage-style clip adorned with ornate swirls covered in crystals.

“I love it,” Michonne replies. 

She’s decided to wear her locs in a bun for the wedding and a clip would add just enough flare to the simple updo.

“Great! Consider it yours,’” Maggie says.

A pair of drop earrings made of crystals and pearls (almost identical to the pearls in the strand her mom gave her) and cream-colored Italian leather sandals with thin ankle straps that crisscross at the back finish Michonne’s ensemble.

The trio also finds Maggie a dress: a floor-length gown made of plum tulle with sheer lace straps and a wrapped bodice. 

“How about a little sparkle,” Michonne says, fastening a fitted belt with a single row of antique crystals around Maggie’s waist.

“I love it,” she replies enthusiastically.

“So do I.” 

“I’m so glad you’re going to stand up with us,” Michonne adds, leaning in for a hug. “I can’t imagine my wedding day without you.”

“Stop, you’re gonna make me cry,” Maggie says, getting teary eyed. “I love you like a sister, you know that.” 

Though the women have been friends for just a few years, they have a deep bond. 

Incredibly, Maggie was the one to witness Judith call Michonne “momma” for the first time— a moment that ran the gamut of human emotion, from surprise and joy to sadness and longing. And the birth of Maggie’s daughter, Josephine, has brought them even closer.

“No tears, no tears!” says the shop’s bridal consultant, and hands the ladies glasses of champagne. 

“Ah, much better,” Michonne says as they both take a sip and Maggie nods vigorously.

* * *

Michonne looks down at her ringing phone with a smile and slides her finger across the screen.

“Hey,” she says warmly.

“Hey. How’s the future Mrs. Grimes?”

“Good, mostly. A little stressed, but I guess that’s to be expected.” 

“Maggie says you’re having a hard time with your ‘something borrowed.’” 

“Yeah,” Michonne says with a sigh. “ I’m sure I’ll figure something out eventually.” 

“I think I can help.”

Michonne tilts her head, curious.

“Not long after Maggie and I first got together, Hershel said to me, ‘No man is good enough for your little girl...until one is.’ Then he handed me a pocket watch his grandfather had brought over from Ireland.

“I was shocked. That he approved of me, that he was giving me this family heirloom... All I did was mutter ‘Thanks,’” Glenn says, dropping his voice.

Michonne laughs lightly.

“Not my finest moment,” he admits. “Anyway… It meant a lot to me and you mean a lot to me and, if you want, you can borrow the watch on your big day. Keep it in your purse or whatever. 

“I mean, obviously your marriage to Rick doesn’t need my blessing but, for what it’s worth, I do approve,” he continues. “In all the time I’ve known Rick I’ve never seen him so happy.”

Michonne smiles.

“And you make him a better man.” 

“I would be honored to carry your watch on my wedding day,” she says, truly touched. “Thank you, Glenn.”

“You’re welcome.”

~ ~ ~

That evening, Michonne opens the cedar chest at the end of her and Rick’s bed. It takes a minute to find what she’s looking for, but when she spots the light blue flannel somehow it feels too soon.

Seeing the receiving blanket she never got to use always pricks her heart. Blinking back tears, she sits on the bed and slowly picks up a pair of scissors.

Minutes later, she’s staring at the small heart she cut out. 

Andre, her stillborn baby, would be six now. Old enough to be a ringbearer.

To keep his memory close on her wedding day, Michonne is having the seamstress stitch his name and birthdate on the heart and sew it inside her wedding gown.

“I love you, peanut,” she whispers, running her index finger down the soft blanket before placing it back in the chest.

* * *

Having Rick and Michonne’s favorite Atlanta restaurant cater their reception —a sit-down dinner in their backyard— was a no-brainer. But choosing their wedding cake proves to be a bit more challenging. 

“Why are you being so difficult?” Rick asks.

“I’m not being difficult. I just have very specific tastes and I’m not about to let you compromise my vision.”

“Your vision? My God, Chonne, it’s cake.”

“Yes, my vision. I’m only getting married once. And I want things just...so,” Michonne says, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms. 

They are tasting cake samples at an upscale bakery she read about on her favorite foodie blog and Rick is annoyed. 

Cake shouldn’t be this complicated.

“Why not have a nice, normal chocolate cake? Who doesn’t like chocolate cake?” Rick asks.

“My father, for one,” Michonne says. “And your groom’s cake is chocolate. A chocolate wedding cake would be redundant.” 

“Well, I can’t stand that...that naked cake,” he says with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“It’s charming and avant-garde,” Michonne counters.

“It’s not even done.” 

Michonne exhales deeply.

“It’s what I want, Rick. And it tastes wonderful.”

“Well it looks like hell.” 

Just then the chef comes over to check on their progress.

“So, have you decided?” he asks.

“We’re going with the naked lavender-infused cake with lemon-flavored whipped ricotta filling,” Michonne says cheerfully.

The chef looks at Rick for confirmation and gets a tight smile.

“Excellent choice,” he says, collecting their plates.

Rick narrows his eyes at Michonne and she pretends not to notice.

“And we’ll be decorating it with blueberries, lavender sprigs, and white calla lilies, correct?” the chef asks.

“Correct.”

“A whole freakin’ bouquet and no icing,” Rick mumbles once the chef is out of earshot.

* * *

“No strippers?”

“No strippers.”

“Really?” Michonne asks a bit incredulously.

“Yes, really,” Rick replies with a smile. “Did all that the first time around. My high school buddy Shane, he arranged it all.”

“Mm, the infamous Shane. Well whatever will you gentlemen do without strippers to entertain you?”

“Three words,” Rick says, counting off on his fingers. “Poker, whiskey, cigars.”

Michonne frowns at the last one.

“No cigars in the house.”

“Chonne, it’s one night.

“No.”

“Fine,” he says with a sigh. “What about you and the girls? What are y’all gettin’ into?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” she says coyly, running her fingers down the placket of his chambray shirt.”

Rick looks at her expectantly but, truth be told, the festivities her friends have planned aren’t extraordinary— and that’s intentional.

“Just a night out dancing, minus the typical bachelorette crap,” she says. “I already told them: No tiaras, no party beads, no penis straws. I’m not 25.”

Rick chuckles. 

“No, you’re not. You’re a grown woman,” he drawls, leaning in to nuzzle her neck.

~ ~ ~

“So how often you takin’ ol one-eye to the optometrist?” Abraham asks, downing a healthy swig of Jack Daniels.

“Pardon?” Rick says with a squint.

Glenn, all too familiar with Abraham’s euphemisms for sex, smiles to himself.

The three men, along with Daryl, Eugene, Aaron and Carl, are seated in the Grimes’s dining room, which has been temporarily transformed into a poker den.

Abe tries again.

“How frequently are you batter dippin’ the corn dog?”

When Rick continues to stare at him blankly, Daryl jumps in.

“Man, he wants to know how often you ‘n’ Michonne havin’ sex?” he says, shoving a handful of potato chips into his mouth.

Aaron looks up from his cards, eyes wide, but says nothing.

“I’m getting a beer,” Carl says, standing up from the table. 

“Underage drinking is a risk factor for heavy drinking later in life, and continued heavy use of alcohol leads to increased risk across the lifespan for acute consequences and medical problems, such as cancers of the oral cavity, larynx, pharynx, and esophagus, as well as liver cirrhosis, pancreatitis, and hemorrhagic stroke,” Eugene spouts in his trademark robotic cadence.

“Yeah, well legally I’m an adult. And if I have to hear about my dad’s sex life, I’m going to need booze,” Carl replies and walks to the kitchen.

“Carl,” Rick calls after him. “We’re not gonna talk about my...that,” he says, voice trailing off.

“Thank God. Bad enough I done heard y’all goin’ at it on more than one occasion,” Daryl says.

~ ~ ~

Michonne is slightly horrified as she looks out onto the dance floor. Half the crowd has to be at least 10 years her junior.

“I feel old,” Michonne says with a pout. 

“Here, drink. A few more o’ these and you won’t remember how old ya are,” Maggie says, sliding her a martini.

At the high top table next to theirs, Rosita, Tara and Sasha nod their heads in agreement.

“You’re not old,” Tara reassures her. “I’ve seen you do yoga. Old people aren’t that bendy.”

“Right? She’s so bendy. I bet Rick likes that,” Rosita says with a wink, sending the tipsy group into a fit of giggles.

“Real talk: What’s Rick like between the sheets?” Sasha asks. 

“Oh, don’t look so scandalized, girl. I’m only asking what everyone wants to know.” 

“We are not having this conversation,” Michonne says, her tone contradicting the smile on her face.

“Come on,” Carol says from her perch across the table. “It’s just us girls.”

The group is silent as they wait for Michonne to spill.

“Well, he has no problem taking charge,” she says, prompting a chorus of “oohs”.

“And I like that. But what I like —what I love— the most is the way he looks at me right afterward. Like he can’t believe how lucky he is.”

These kind of admissions from Michonne are rare, so the ladies keep quiet.

“The first time we made love,” he gave me that look and he said, ‘Will it always be this way?’ And I remember thinking, ‘I hope so, I really hope so,’” she says with a far-off look and takes a drink.

“Also, he is good with his tongue,” she adds, “Like, _really _good.”__

This prompts another round of “oohs” and Michonne giggles. 

“He knows just how to— Nope, you know what...I’ve said too much already,” she says, gulping down more of her martini.

“Boo,” Tara jeers and the others join in, but Michonne just shakes her head. She will not be swayed.

Feeling warm, she tugs a bit at the neck of her white mini dress. Talking about Rick’s skills in the bedroom has her feeling some type of way.

She drinks the last of her cocktail in about 30 seconds and sets the glass down on the table. 

“Ladies, I’m gonna call it a night.” 

When her friends start to protest, she simply says “I’m in need of a certain someone’s tongue between my thighs.” 

Gleefully startled by her confession, the women encourage her to get home to her man.

Horny and buzzing, she fidgets all the way there, tugging at her dress and crossing and uncrossing her legs about a dozen times. When the Uber driver finally pulls into their driveway, she practically jumps out of the SUV.

The house is quiet and Michonne wonders if Rick and the fellas decided to hit up a strip club after all. Then she sees Rick descending the stairs. 

“What are you doing here? I thought you were staying at Sasha’s,” he says.

“Not happy to see me?” Michonne pouts.

“I’m always happy to see you,” Rick replies and rests his hands on her waist. He then leans in and places a tender kiss on her cheek. She sighs and he moves lower, kissing just under her jaw, on her neck, on her collarbone. 

“You look so sexy” he says, standing back to admire her. 

Although the dress is fairly modest —long-sleeved and round-necked— it clings to her in all the right places and shows off her fantastic legs.

“Well thank you,” she says and kisses him on the mouth, slipping her tongue inside. He tastes like whiskey and something else she can’t quite place.

“As much as I like you in that dress, I’d rather see it on our bedroom floor,” Rick whispers, then nibbles on her earlobe.

Without a word, Michonne takes his hand and starts to climb the stairs. Rick stays far enough behind to watch her ass, and the heat of his gaze spurs her to put a little extra sway in her hips.

When they finally reach their bedroom door, Michonne turns to him.

“I’m gonna need you to be patient, Ok?”

“But I really want to be inside you,” he replies, lifting the hem of her dress and pressing his body against hers.

“I want that, too,” she giggles. “Eventually.”

“Alright.” Rick tilts his head, a smile creeping to the corners of his mouth. “I’m game.”

At that, Michonne saunters across the room and retrieves the straight back chair that usually sits behind their desk. When she places it in the center of the room, Rick intuits what’s happening and takes a seat.

The opening chords of Floetry’s “Say Yes” filter through the sound system and Rick excitedly runs his hands down his thighs.

Standing between his legs, Michonne unzips her dress and lets it fall to the floor in a puddle at her feet. Their eyes lock and she gingerly steps out of it, then leans forward, back arched, gloriously round ass in the air. 

Her hands are on either side of the chair and she can feel his warm breath on her neck. When she starts undoing the buttons on his shirt he swallows hard. 

Once it’s open, she rubs her lace-covered breasts against his bare chest. 

“Chonne,” he pants.

With her eyes on his, she steps back a bit and begins to touch herself, sliding her hands over her visibly hard nippes and down her stomach, stopping just above her heat. After they slowly take the same path back up her torso, she starts swaying her hips from side to side, then in a figure eight, hands caressing her upper thighs.

When she turns around, bends at the waist and simultaneously eases her panties down her silky legs, Rick feels like he’s going to explode. His mouth waters and he adjusts himself, the outline of his erection visible through his jeans.

Michonne then unhooks her bra, slips it down her arms and casually tosses it aside. When she faces him, completely nude and still wearing heels, she sees that his neck and face are flushed and his hands are twitching.

“Get over here,” he growls and she gladly obeys. But she doesn’t touch him. Instead, she turns her back to him and hovers just above his crotch, swinging her behind back and forth, hands resting on the arms of his chair. 

Then, without warning, she starts bouncing up and down as if she were riding him in reverse.

“Fuck” he groans, and she smiles over her shoulder.

“Alright there, officer?”

“Not at all,” he says, pupils blown wide.

Michonne decides it’s time to put an end to his suffering and turns to face him. But before he can make a move, she straddles him and hungrily kisses his pretty pink mouth.

* * *

It’s 10 ‘til 6 on a Saturday evening in September, and the last of Rick and Michonne’s wedding guests has arrived at their Inman Park home.

The pair has opted for a simple ceremony in their living room, with less than 20 close friends and family members in attendance. Their priest, Father Gabriel, will officiate.

“Momma, you are so pretty! Like a princess!!” Judith exclaims as Michonne rises from her vanity.

“Stunning, absolutely stunning,” Maggie says reaching up to adjust Michonne’s hair clip as she smoothes her gown.

“Here, sweetie, now don’t forget these,” Maggie says, turning to Judith and handing her a basket of flower petals. 

“You remember what to do, right?” 

“Yes,” Judith says immediately. “Walk in front of momma and do this,” she says, dramatically tossing a handful of petals. 

“Yes, but not ‘til we walk down the stairs, Ok?” Maggie clarifies.

“Ok.”

Just then, Michonne’s father enters the room.

“My beautiful baby girl is getting married,” he says, grabbing her hand and extending his arm to get a good look at her.

While Michonne’s mother is petite and curvy, her father is as long and lean as she is. 

“You sure you want to do this? We can still make a run for it,” he adds with a twinkle in his dark brown eyes.

“I’m postive, Daddy,” she replies with a smile.

“OK, then let’s get this show on the road,” he says, and links his arm in hers.

In the living room, Rick, Daryl —his best man— and Carl are standing in front of the fireplace. 

“You nervous, man?” Daryl asks quietly, scanning the room. 

Rick turns his head.

“No,” he replies a bit surprised, like he’s just come to the realization in that moment. “No, I’m not.”

“Right on,” Daryl says and adjusts his tie. 

He hates ties. 

“Least Chonne didn’t make us wear penguin suits,” he says silently.

She had decided tuxedos were too formal for their “urban bohemian” affair, so Rick, Daryl and Carl are dressed in identical navy blue Italian wool suits, purple gingham shirts, and black wingtip shoes. The only difference is their purple ties: Rick’s is paisley while theirs are solid, the same shade as Maggie’s dress.

At exactly 6 p.m., the first strains of “Ave Maria” fill the air and the guests turn their attention to the home’s curved staircase. 

Judith eagerly bounds down the steps scattering petals, the cream-colored sash on her tulle dress flouncing behind her. When she reaches the bottom she unexpectedly curtsies, making the guests chuckle.

Maggie is next, carrying a single calla lily and beaming brightly.

Then the “Wedding March” begins and the bride makes her much anticipated entrance. 

Michonne and her father gracefully descend the stairs just as the orange autumn sun begins to set, bathing the scene in a rich, warm glow.

With her understated gown, hairstyle, and bouquet —6 calla lilies with Glenn’s pocket watch fastened to the stem— she is effortlessly gorgeous.

Carl looks at his dad as Michonne makes her way toward them and is shocked to see tears in his eyes.

“I can’t believe she’s mine,” Rick thinks.

When Michonne arrives at his side, he can’t help himself.

“You are exquisite,” he says, and her answering smile lights up the room.

“We are gathered here today to join Richard Allen Grimes and Michonne Giselle Wallace in matrimony. Who gives this woman to be married?” Father Gabriel asks.

“She gives herself freely, with her parents love and blessing,” Michonne’s father says, then kisses her cheek before joining his wife.

“Anyone who knows this couple knows they are anything but traditional,” Father Gabriel says. “So it’s should come as no surprise that they’ve chosen to forgo traditional vows. Instead they’ve written their own.”

“Michonne,” he says, indicating she’s up. 

“In the presence of our family and friends, I vow to love you, encourage you, trust you, and respect you,” she says, looking directly into Rick’s bright blue eyes. 

“As a family, we will create a home filled with tenderness, laughter, and learning. I promise to work with you to foster a relationship built on equality, knowing that together we will build a life far better than either of us could imagine alone.” 

A single tear slides down Michonne’s face, but she continues in a clear, strong voice.

“Today, I choose you to be my husband. I accept you as you are, and I offer myself in return. I will care for you, stand beside you, and share with you all of life’s adversities and all of its joys, from this day forward and all the days of my life.”

“Rick, your turn,” Father Gabriel says.

Michonne’s pledges to him and their family have temporarily rendered Rick speechless, but he recovers when he looks at their joined hands. 

“Today, surrounded by people who care for us, I promise to respect you as a person, a partner, and an equal. I promise to listen to you and learn from you, to support you and accept your support. I will comfort you and tend to you, protect you and shelter you,” he says, gaze steady.

“I will strive to build a home that is compassionate, full of respect and honor, filled with peace, happiness, and love. Before I asked you I was yours, and I am devoted to you in every way. I marry you with no hesitation or doubt, and my commitment to you is absolute.”

Michonne smiles softly and Rick rubs his thumb over hers.

“You’ve both chosen to wear rings as a reminder of these promises,” Father Gabriel says. “People often say wedding bands are a perfect circle, with no beginning and no end. But these rings did have a beginning. 

“The stones were formed a long time ago deep within the earth. Eventually, a series of lucky events caused them to rise to the surface, where someone dug them up. Metal was then liquefied in a furnace at a thousand degrees— molded, cooled, and painstakingly polished. Something beautiful was made from raw elements.

“As you look at these rings over the years, I hope you remember that. And just as I know you’ll protect these rings, I’m confident you’ll protect the commitments you’ve made to one another today.”

“Daryl, the bride’s ring,” he says with a nod to the best man.

“Rick, place the ring on Michonne’s finger and repeat after me… ‘With this ring, I marry you. Wear this ring forever as a sign of my love.’”

Rick recites each word with a smile, and once Michonne slips Rick’s ring onto his finger she does the same.

“Now by the power vested in me by the great state of Georgia, it is my honor and delight to declare you husband and wife,” Father Gabriel says. “You may kiss the bride.”

Rick and Michonne share a drawn-out but chaste dip kiss, prompting a wolf whistle from Daryl, cheers from Carl, and enthusiastic clapping from their guests.

As the grinning newlyweds makes their way down the aisle arm in arm Rick leans over and whispers, “I came across some real good marriage advice the other day.”

“Oh yeah?” Michonne laughs and Rick nods.

“To keep your marriage brimming, with love in the loving cup, whenever you’re wrong, admit it. Whenever you’re right, shut up.” 

“Now _that’s _good advice,” she says, and kisses him squarely on the cheek.__

**Author's Note:**

> As you can see, I aged everyone up a bit, mainly so Judith can talk. (I need that, like, yesterday.) And on the subject of talking... Rick and Michonne's vows were cobbled together from random wedding scripts I found online. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
